


stars, hide your fires

by sharkie



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Headcanon, Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-22 20:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18534565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: "The One who denied is love's enemy, but the enemy, love, is the last we shall see."Long before the Bazaar descended to the Neath, there were stars. And there was crossing.





	stars, hide your fires

**Author's Note:**

> These are expanded ficlets originally written for 100 word prompts. They're partially inspired by Alexis Kennedy's **deuterocanonical** explanations about _The Seventh Letter_ and the White's motivation. You can find them in the lore spoilers channel on the official FBG Discord. ( **Update** : That said, Alexis Kennedy retire bastard)
> 
> I haven't played much of _Sunless Skies_ , so I might make mistakes about Judgement society and possibly general lore. Feel free to let me know if I get anything glaringly wrong! (You can inbox me at tehsharkie @ tumblr if you think your corrections are too spoilery for public comments.) 
> 
> There might be SMEN references, but no major spoilers, just Easter eggs.

Of all the parties the White is forced to attend, the Chrysanthemum Conjunction holds the most taxing. Judgements of newness and beginnings elevate wasteful lavishness to a science. They use these nights to court prospective members. They appropriate the domain of secrecy for their posturing. Guests remove masks only to kiss - and sometimes, not even then.

Meanwhile, the White wears each mask truer than their own face. Everyone knows that the White is in attendance, yet few notice how they weave through the crowd. Those who know cannot see. Those who see do not believe it could be them. 

Endless talk, infinite dancing. They take the long way around a cluster of Judgements engrossed in conversation. 

“...says he's on the verge of a breakthrough,” hisses Aldebaran. “Naturally I'm all for novelty, but it's beginning to sound like heresy. It could ruin our plans.” She looks crestfallen. “It could ruin the _party_.”

“Oh, he's always on the verge of _something,_ all right,” says Altair, the veneer of good humour spread thin over what could charitably be described as crystallised venom. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Arcturus ceases humming to contribute: “It wouldn't be interesting to watch. The silly little thing is poking in every corner, talking of 'spontaneous catoptromancy', whatever that means - ” 

“I'll look into it,” the White interrupts, calm as a forgotten ocean.

The other stars freeze. The White tends to have that effect. 

They don't stop to reveal their identity nor learn the guest's name, but it takes little time to locate him: there's only one mirror in the palace. Plus, he's narrating half of his thoughts (and actions) aloud. The White loiters outside the library, listening at the ajar door. _Patience_ , the guest tells himself.  _Dare...hope..._ he whispers. The White waits for him to reach the middle of his current sentence before striding inside, and is greeted by a theatrical gasp - a clatter of glass upon glass upon glass - the _thrum_ of anticipation as a lanky figure pivots on the spot. 

“Apologies, messere.” The figure smiles. “I had to get your attention.”

“You succeeded,” the White replies. “Pray that you lose it.”

The wayward partygoer is another Judgement, young and much lesser, but not unattractively so. He sways as he glides forward, not from excessive drink, but from the same plain excitement igniting his skin and setting his wild hair ablaze. His silk mask burns scarlet and crimson and subtler shades in between, covering his eyes and nothing more. He laughs off the stern comment about the dress code as if it's a marvellous joke. The White can't recall the last time someone laughed in their face; they imagine the laughing party lacks the capacity to remember, too.

Space shrinks between them. Time dilates into a frosty breath. The younger Judgement extends a hand. When he receives no reaction, he begins to tip the mask from the White’s face, too slightly to see them in their entirety, yet uncovering pinpricks of splendour from their chin to their lips. A bold move. A foolish one. The White is loathe to reward such recklessness, but they allow it all the same, until the lesser star has removed nearly half of their mask. They snatch his wrists away with a soft _tsk._

“I'm sorry,” says the lesser star, even less apologetic than before. “I want to recognise you, should we ever meet again in...similar circumstances.”

“Spoken like a true juvenile. Could you not tell by my voice?” The White slides closer, the frost-tipped fingers of their glove ghosting the air around the lesser star’s cheek. “By the curve of my hand? By my general disposition?”

“I imagine I wouldn't, if you're doing your job properly.” The lesser star leans into the suggestion of touch, flaring in fascination. “You're the White, aren't you? I've only heard of you from reports. Well, from reading between the lines, really. Especially the red, scorching ones.” His gaze coruscates - mirthful and challenging.

Dares are for fools.

“I would no sooner punish a youngster’s indiscretions than trust a devil,” says the White. They drop their hand, and almost smile and almost sneer at the responding protest. “Had you acted this appallingly towards the Red or Gold...that would be different. But I know that you know nothing of the higher purpose we serve and, whatever you’ve gleaned from confused gossip or mangled from your fantasies, you know even less about me. Let that disappointment be your penance.”

The lesser star sighs, then: a fulsome, eons-aged shudder. “I would know you in the dark and seek you in the light.”

In human terms, millennia upon millennia later, this declaration would be roughly equivalent to _I would fuck you on a pile of radioactive waste then wink at you in church._

The White suppresses shocked speechlessness with a burst of brisk apathy. “I'm flattered, I'm sure, but I have duties today.” Turning to exit, they securely refit their mask, barely sparing an amicable nod for the other Judgement. “Enjoy yourself, whoever you are.”

Behind them, there's the unmistakable crackle of a dimming shimmer. Their admirer watches, forlorn, as they depart. 


End file.
